


Nine Agents Dancing

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Twelve Fics of Christmas [9]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2817338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon takes Illya to see "The Nutcracker" on his first Christmas in America. A Solo tradition every year when he's in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Agents Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yelizaveta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yelizaveta/gifts).



Napoleon studied the tickets in his hands and grinned happily. Not only did he get tickets to _The Nutcracker_ , he got great seats. Now all he had to do was convince his ‘date’ to go.

He’d been paired with Illya Kuryakin, New York’s Soviet agent, for just over seven months now and he was still getting to know his partner. He knew the man was skilled and intelligent. You didn’t make it into Section Two without those qualifications. He knew all about Illya’s physical and mental strengths, but he wanted to know Illya’s soul. And Napoleon knew of no better way than ballet to find out what made a person tick.

He tucked the tickets into his billfold and walked into the Canteen. True to form, Illya was sitting away from most everyone else, alone and reading. Much of the New York staff was a bit terrified of Illya and his reputation, others didn’t want anything to do with him because he came from the USSR and just about every woman had tried to approach him, only to be rebuffed. Thus, Illya usually dined alone. Napoleon suspected that was his goal from the first.

He wandered through the line, selected something brown that looked promising, something else that was orange and less exciting and a cup of coffee. If nothing else, the coffee would kill the aftertaste of the food. Then and again, so would paint thinner, but they weren’t pouring that.

“Hey, Partner,” Napoleon said, sliding his tray onto the table. Illya looked up at him, over the thick black rim of his glasses.

“Napoleon.” It had taken Napoleon months to achieve this small victory of Illya calling him by his given name.

“Hey, I was wondering if you had plans for Saturday night.” He didn’t beat around the bush with Illya. Napoleon found the man more forthcoming if you were upfront with him.

“Not that I am aware of. Is there a mission?” There was a sparkle in the man’s eyes.

“Of a sort. We are going out on the town.”

“For what purpose?”

“It’s your first Christmas in New York, Illya. I want you to see how we Solos celebrate it.”

“Christmas?”

“Surely you’ve noticed the decorations, the trees with all the bright lights on them and the store windows. You do know what Christmas is, don’t you? Ho, ho, ho, peace on Earth and all that?”

“Yes, Napoleon, rest assured, I do know what it is. I just thought…” Illya trailed off.

“Thought what?”

It took Illya a few moments to find the words. “That, as agent, we weren’t allowed… niceties.”

“Well, it does depend upon whether THRUSH plays nice, but you can’t live your life waiting for the shoe to drop.”

“I have.”

“And I’m here to rectify that.” Napoleon gave Illya’s arm a light punch. “What do you say? Dinner and a show.”

“What show? I know your predilections.”

Napoleon happily pulled his billfold out and revealed the tickets. “ _The Nutcracker_. As I said, it’s a Solo tradition.”

Illya’s smile was slightly sad. “Did you know it was originally commissioned by the Director of Moscow’s Imperial Theatre? Its premier was in 1892.”

“Then you’ve seen it?”

“Many times. Like you, it was also my family tradition. Even during the great war, there was ballet.”

“Then it’s a date?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. It is a date.”

                                                                                      ****

“Do you ever wonder, just once, if you might be jinxed?” Napoleon checked his clip, thankful that he’d had the foresight to drop a couple in the pocket of his tux.

Illya popped up to return fire. “Never.

They were pinned down just blocks from the theatre. Somehow, THRUSH had spotted them leaving the restaurant and gave chase. Now they were pinned down in an alley, squatting among piles of garbage, vomit and urine.

“Is this how you entertain all your dates, Napoleon?   Now I know why a woman is rarely seen on your arm twice.”

“No, I arranged this just for you. I know how you lust after action.” Napoleon got off a shot and smiled grimly at the answering cry. “That’s one of the nine down.”

“Seven, I should think.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“You know the saying, busy hands are glad hands.”

“Happy, Illya. Happy hands.”

“I’m nearly out.”

“Me, as well. Make the next ones count.”

They did just that, whittling the pack down to four. “I have three shots left. Now what?” Napoleon asked. “They are going to figure out pretty quickly that we are defenseless.”

“I have two. Nothing is lost as long as courage remains. Napoleon said that.”

“I did?”

“Bonaparte, you blockhead,” Illya muttered. “Don’t you ever read?”

“I do in between dances. I’ve got an idea.” He locked eyes with Illya and said loudly, “That was my last bullet. Tell me you have more.”

Illya nodded slowly. “I’m out.”

“And we have company.” The four remaining THRUSH broke cover and were cautiously approaching.

“Come out with your hands up, Solo, and in the spirit of the season, I’ll make it quick.”

Napoleon couldn’t tell which one spoke. All he knew is that all four were backlit and in the open.

“I’ll take the two on the left,” he whispered, then louder. “That’s decent of you, pal.” He nodded tightly and all four men went down.

They stayed put for a few moments to let the symbolic dust settle and then climbed out from behind their impromptu barricade. “When are they going to learn? The greatest danger occurs at the moment of victory.”

“You do read.” Illya holstered his weapon and reached for his communicator.

“It’s in my blood.” Napoleon holstered his weapon and then started to try and bring some rights to his jacket. That’s when he realized it and Napoleon Solo began to do something he didn’t do often. He began to swear.

“Clean-up is on its way. What’s wrong?”

“My billfold is gone.” He looked over at the mounds of garbage. “Either it’s in there. He indicated the mess with a nod of his head. “Or I lost it somewhere along the way.” He swore some more.

Illya looked at his beat-up Timex watch. “It’s perhaps just as well, Napoleon. The curtain is in five minutes and I very much doubt they would permit us entrance the way we are.”

Napoleon looked down at his stained tuxedo and nodded his head in agreement. “Even Napoleon B. knew when to concede defeat.”

“He did?”

“Perhaps not. I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready for a hot shower, a cold drink and some sleep.

“I would agree. Why don’t you go home? I will stay until the crew arrives.”

Normally Napoleon would have argued, but tonight the fight was out of him. So much for a Solo tradition.

                                                                        ****

Napoleon gasped happily as the Christmas tree began to grow. This was when the magic began for him. Now Clara entered the realm of the Nutcracker Prince, the Rat King and the Sugarplum Fairy.

“These seats are fabulous, Illya. How did you manage to get them?”

Illya watched Clara, a visiting dancer from Moscow and his cousin, delicately step across to the Nutcracker. “Does it matter? What is important is that a tradition is held up and marked. In our lives, there are few things we can count upon.”

“Besides friends.” Napoleon squeezed Illya’s forearm and grinned. Illya returned the smile.

“Agreed, now hush, here come the rats!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
